


I Give It All My Oxygen

by GingerAle3



Series: TMA Hurt/Comfort Week [5]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (Just a little bit), Exhaustion, Headaches & Migraines, Hiding Pain, Hurt/Comfort, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Is a Terrible Liar, M/M, mentions of stab wounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:28:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26164165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GingerAle3/pseuds/GingerAle3
Summary: "Martin was looking around worriedly, seemingly as unsure where they were as he was, so Jon gave him what he hoped was something closer to a reassuring smile than a nervous grimace, before turning away to face one of the corridors. His face hidden from Martin, he squeezed his eyes shut, braced himself...and Knew how to get out."After destroying Peter, Jon's powers have been stretched to their limit and reached the point of pain. That doesn't mean he can stop using them just yet though.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: TMA Hurt/Comfort Week [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1893973
Comments: 6
Kudos: 169





	I Give It All My Oxygen

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the TMA Hurt/Comfort Week on tumblr (themagnuswriters)
> 
> 28/8 - Friday  
> Hiding Pain/Injury
> 
> Hey I finished this one with more than 30 minutes to spare! Progress!
> 
> (Title from Let the Flames Begin by Paramore)

“Stubborn fool.” Jon muttered to himself as the remains of Peter dispersed into the fog surrounding them. Dull pain rushed into his mind, and he squeezed his eyes shut, raising a hand to his temple and firmly pressing down in an attempt to disperse it. It felt as though he had simply stretched his powers too far too fast, and was now paying the cost. The door in his mind was closed again, but had cracked open for just a moment, the ocean contained within flooding through his mind and out into Peter’s. Now that Peter was gone, the backwash swept back into Jon’s own head, and for a moment it felt that his skull couldn’t withstand the sudden increase of pressure. He shook his head quickly, trying not to wince too hard when that only aggravated the building headache. This may be stronger than usual but he’d experienced a similar effect while adjusting to his other powers in the past. He should feel better after a bit of rest. First things first though, the reason he came here in the first place.

“Martin. He’s gone, Martin. He - he’s gone.” Looking around, he tried to spot Martin in the mist. With the new pain in his head, he was hoping to avoid having to Know anything, but he would do so for Martin in a heartbeat. Thankfully, that wasn’t necessary. Martin came to him of his own accord, that horrible distant look still in his eyes, his voice still quiet and empty as Jon desperately tried to convince him to come back, to leave behind the fog and isolation. With every second that passed, he seemed to fade more and more, his eyes glazed and cloudy, skin grey, hair bleached completely white and seeming to dissolve seamlessly into the mist. Jon knew that if they didn’t leave this place soon, he would never see Martin again, and that thought hurt a thousand times more than any headache could.

“Martin. Martin, look at me. Look at me and tell me what you see.” In that moment he poured everything he had into his words, compulsion and desperation, power and hope, fear and love, and Martin finally looked straight at him. It was hard to not let the slowly building pain show on his face, to meet Martin’s gaze evenly and not flinch at how very wrong Martin’s eyes looked in this place.

“I see…” Something twitched in Martin’s face, the first slight change he’d seen since they’d entered The Lonely. “I see you, Jon.” He gave a slight chuckle, incredulous and quiet and nothing like someone like Martin should ever sound. He chuckled again and Jon realised with a jolt that it didn’t echo, a small spark of hope growing in his chest as the clouds in his eyes seemed to dissipate. A smile was spreading across his face and the spark burned bright enough to burn. “I see you.” Martin’s voice was clear and strong and tears started running down his face, and Jon dragged him into a hug.

Jon was reasonably sure that by that point, The Lonely had no more sway over them. They were together, they weren’t alone and that meant that The Lonely couldn’t hold them there. Like hell was he going to take a chance on that, though. Taking Martin’s hand, he took a deep breath and focused on Knowing how to leave. It twisted the dull pain in his head into something sharper, forcing him to repress a wince at the sudden stabbing pain, but he could get them back to the Institute. Even though his wandering had been aimless since he got there, he was able to retrace his steps precisely, away from the secluded beach where he’d found Martin and back to the high cliffs where he’d first emerged. After he’d forced his way through it, the barrier between that world and their own was weak and damaged, making it easy to slip back out and back to reality.

They found themselves back in the tunnels, not in the Panopticon but somewhere else entirely. Eli- Jonah must have used the Leitner to hide himself away again. In spite of all the time he’d spent down there, that area of the tunnels was unfamiliar, and with a miserable sinking feeling he realised there was only one way to find the exit. Martin was looking around worriedly, seemingly as unsure where they were as he was, so Jon gave him what he hoped was something closer to a reassuring smile than a nervous grimace, before turning away to face one of the corridors. His face hidden from Martin, he squeezed his eyes shut, braced himself...and Knew how to get out.

Jon had been stabbed before. It wasn’t really an experience that he could forget, much as he might want to. He still clearly remembered the suddenness of the pain, how it had overwhelmed everything else, knocking the air out of him and leaving him gasping. So, when he later claimed that the pain had felt like he was being stabbed right in between the eyes, he felt that his word on the matter carried a certain level of merit.

In an instant, his knees started shaking with the effort to not just drop to the ground, and he bit down on his lip in an attempt to hold back a cry at how much it hurt. Martin’s hand in his own was a lifeline, and he clung to it desperately as he dropped his head and attempted to get his breathing under control.

“...n?...Jon!” Martin’s voice cut through his focus, and he suddenly realised that he’d stopped dead in his tracks, hanging his head and clutching Martin’s hand in a death grip. Picking his head back up sent a rippling aftershock of pain through him, but he did his best to ignore it as he loosened his grip.

“S...Sorry, just got...distracted.” Well, as excuses go it was probably no worse than the time he’d told Martin that he’d stabbed himself with a bread knife. Hazarding a glance back at Martin, he even had the same no-nonsense face that he’d eventually settled on all that time ago when he’d announced that he was taking Jon to the hospital. No matter how many times Jon had told him it was unnecessary, he’d stayed by his side the entire time, even sitting next to him as he’d been carefully stitched up. Jon had suspected that it was more because he thought (correctly) that if he left, Jon simply wouldn’t bother getting it treated than out of any sort of affection for him, but he had come to appreciate it nonetheless. In this particular case though, it made him grimace, because it meant that there was no getting out of talking about it. Jon suspected some half-baked story about his own incompetence with kitchen utensils wouldn’t save him this time. That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try though.

“Really, it’s fine.” Martin’s expression didn’t change. He just stood there, waiting for an explanation as Jon started to squirm slightly under his gaze. “Nothing to worry about.” His words were weaker, even to his own ears, and that was never a good sign. Martin raised a single eyebrow.

“Fine, fine, fine. It just…” Martin’s gaze had softened by this point, waiting patiently for Jon to find his words as he laced their fingers together. Jon looked down at their interwoven hands and found that it was much easier to speak without looking Martin in the eye.

“...I’ve never really pushed my abilities to this extent before. I feel...it hurts. It’s like I’ve overworked a muscle, but instead of a dull ache it’s closer to a migraine, or- or a stab wound. And…” He hesitated over the last bit, but Martin ran a reassuring thumb over his knuckles. “And it hurts more each time I use them. It’ll just keep getting worse until I can rest and even then, with how intense the pain was on that last one, I suspect it might take longer than usual. Maybe even a few days.” He finally looked up at Martin, his eyes were sad and his brow scrunched together in worry. Jon’s chest clenched. That was exactly what he’d been trying to avoid. The last thing Martin needed right now was to be worrying over him.

“Don’t worry though. It may hurt but I...I can handle it.” Martin frowned slightly, but pulled Jon forward into a gentle hug. It wasn’t the desperate grasp they’d shared in The Lonely, it was loose, gentle, peaceful. Lightly, ever so lightly, Martin brushed his lips over the crown of Jon’s head.

“Does it hurt all the time, or just when you Know things?” The words were murmured quietly into his hair, and the quiet tone frightened Jon for just a moment until he noticed the lack of an echo. The fact that Martin was still holding him was also reassuring.

“At first it was just when I Knew things, but…” he trailed off, suddenly very much aware of the sharp pain still needling at the back of his mind. He didn’t finish that thought, but he knew Martin still understood it as he nodded slightly, his chin bumping slightly against the top of Jon’s head

“Alright. Is there any way to make it better? Anything I can do to help?” His voice was level and gentle, caring in the way Martin had always been before everything went so wrong, and Jon felt himself melting into that familiar comfort.

“I...not right now, I don’t think. I know how to get us out of here, and I’ll have to lead the way for that. But once we’re out, do you think you could maybe…get us away from here without my help? I’ll be fine to do it if you can’t or if you aren’t comfortable with it, but just ten minutes of not being the one in charge, not having to think about anything...that would really help.” Martin’s arms held him a little tighter for a moment, offering him some quiet reassurance.

“I can do that.” Martin replied. “I can do that.”

Martin kept his word perfectly. After Jon led them out of the winding tunnels, and through the mess of splintered wood and shredded paper that used to be the archives, Martin took charge. Using their still laced-together hands, he moved slightly ahead of Jon, transferring seamlessly from the follower to the leader. After a winding route through London, he led Jon to a seemingly empty block of flats, one that Jon remembered he definitely didn’t live in before. A question for another day. All that mattered right now was Martin’s hand in his, towing him through an unsurprisingly sparse flat and into an unsurprisingly sparse bedroom.

He vaguely remembered Martin handing him something soft and warm and far too big for him and telling him to go change, before gently guiding him to the bed. He remembered Martin’s voice offering to leave and sleep on the couch before Jon grumbled, dragged him down to the mattress next to him and latched onto him like a limpet. More than anything though, he remembered Martin huffing out a quiet laugh and pressing one last kiss to his forehead as he gave a contented sigh. The pain wasn’t quite gone, Jon suspected it might take even more than a good night’s sleep for him to recover fully, but it had lessened to a dull roar in the back of his mind. More than enough for him to relax, let his mind drift, and go to sleep in the arms of the man he loved.


End file.
